


The Daily Grind

by Predatrix



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Clothed Sex, Desperation, Dry Humping, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4390367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predatrix/pseuds/Predatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme fill for the same person who wanted <i>That Thing</i>, in this case requiring "Childermass/Norrell clothed grinding"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Daily Grind

Childermass was never entirely certain what mood he would find his employer in when he returned from his travels. Nervy, skittish and sexually-frustrated was usually a safe bet, but whether Norrell would deal with it practically by waiting for Childermass to come back, or do something silly like divert his energies into starting a feud or setting fire to something, was no certainty.

He was relieved this time to see that Norrell was merely waiting quietly in the library. When he tried to approach, Norrell twitched irritably and moved away. Unfortunately, there were many letters on the desk. When Norrell started writing letters, it usually boded ill for somebody. Often several somebodies.

But Childermass himself was tired from the journey, and not in the mood for trying to guess what would make Norrell comfortable—especially as he suspected that Norrell wasn’t actually trying to be comfortable but spoiling for a fight of some kind, if he’d been trying to get into arguments with other magicians.

So he sighed, and went over to a convenient chair, where he settled to rest. It could have been worse: Norrell wasn’t actually trying to argue with him about his being a lazy, idle servant, and he’d not scruple to playing dirty if he was really in a bad mood. In fact, he was in a very odd mood: Childermass was used to being able to read him without too much difficulty, and now he couldn’t construe Norrell’s face at all.

Norrell asked him if he’d managed to get the book he’d been sent for. In fact, he’d got into the auction, an estate sale, somewhat late. “No, sir, but I believe it to be nothing but a duplicate of Belasis,” he said, having checked the catalogue. “Anyway it has gone in a mixed lot to a farming family who have no interest in the subject.”

Norrell nodded, having at least as much interest in hoarding knowledge as discovering it. If it had been a new book, an unknown work, he would have moved (had Childermass move) heaven and earth to get to it, but if it was merely a duplicate of a dangerously-inaccurate work, he would settle for knowing it wasn’t going to cause problems.

Childermass sighed, and settled back into the warm chair, trying to forget the blizzard he’d been sent through on what appeared to be a fool’s errand.

Norrell said, “It was most inconvenient: I could have done with your presence here.”

“Well, in that case, you shouldn’t have sent me. Sir.”

“No, perhaps I should not,” said Norrell thoughtfully, and Childermass glanced up at him. Norrell admitting he was at fault in any matter whatsoever was unlikely. What was he up to?

Norrell went and locked the library door. Then, rather clumsily, he came and sat on the floor in front of Childermass’s chair. “I missed you…John.”

Childermass felt a stir of interest tighten his breeches. Norrell had almost never tried to cross that particular divide, and whether it was loneliness, desperate randiness or a need for comfort, well he certainly wouldn’t turn him away. 

“Come here…Gilbert,” he said, and watched the spark of irritation in Gilbert Norrell’s eyes as he was reminded of the name his appalling father had called him—and the way Norrell almost visibly decided that he wanted attention badly enough he’d settle for being called anything if it came with a promise of pleasure.

Norrell started as daintily as Childermass usually did if the roles were reversed, a little kissing to get him warm, a bit of pulling Childermass’s hair, more kisses… Childermass tried to fondle him, which usually reduced Norrell to falling back in helpless need to be handled, but now Norrell said, “None of that. My turn now!” and gently pushed his hands aside.

“In my lap, Gilbert, let me feel thee,” Childermass demanded, because if Norrell wanted to play at equals he would damned-well get it, and watched that scarlet blush rise in Norrell’s face as he scrambled up and began to rub and grind him, almost crying with need.

Childermass hadn’t realised quite how…effective that would be, he decided, as just the thought and the feel of it brought him off, shocked and trembling with pleasure.

He hadn’t quite decided whether to be embarrassed or not at being so quick off the mark when he realised Norrell wasn’t at all embarrassed, but tracing round the wet mark on his breeches with a finger, rather admiringly, and admitting to wanting to lick it up, except he’d a notion it would be extremely impractical. 

So he pulled Norrell back into his lap and soon had him ready to go again, well, _mostly_ ready, just fractionally too sensitive after the interruption, holding his breath and shuddering and grinding and _nearly, nearly_ there.

Norrell said, “Please, I need…need to…” and Childermass said, low in his throat, “I _know_ what you need,” and gave him a wet fingertip up the arse as a distraction, and Norrell groaned and sobbed and came.

“Wait a minute,” said Childermass, because he knew it would be back to ‘Childermass’ and ‘sir’ in another minute, with their juices barely dried on their clothing, He kissed Gilbert, and Gilbert kissed John, just for something to keep warm in their memories, and they packed the men they were away under master and man, and Norrell said, “Thank you, Childermass, I believe I shall sleep now,” and Childermass said, “Good night, sir,” and melted into the shadows.


End file.
